An Absent Memory
by oldmule
Summary: Ruth can't remember what she's forgotten but she knows she should, she knows she wants to, but will it ever become clear?
1. Chapter 1

**This could be the daftest idea I've had but hey, here goes.**

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><p><em>Tuesday <em>

"I don't remember," she says.

"You don't remember what?"

Her eyebrows raise with irritation.

"Okay, stupid question, I admit." Dimitri considers for a moment before ploughing on.

"Put it this way what makes you so sure that there's something you should remember?"

She sighs.

"Because there is…"

"I'm not sure that argument would stand up in court, Ruth."

"Me neither."

A silence sits between them for a few minutes.

"Do you think you were, what...drugged, maybe?"

She does not hesitate.

"Yes, I think I was."

"Do you have any idea why, or who by?'

She breaths deeply.

"I think it could be something to do with Harry."

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><p>It had started this morning when she got up. A nagging feeling that she couldn't quite place. A feeling that something had happened, that she'd been somewhere, done something, that things were different and yet they weren't. She tried to put it down to that slightly perplexing feeling that sometimes comes from a vivid dream or a nightmare.<p>

But then she had seen Harry and the feeling came back and instead of perplexing it was deeply disconcerting.

She found herself looking at him and trying to see something that wasn't there.

"Are you okay, Ruth?" he had asked gently.

She nodded.

"Sure?'

"Harry, did I….." she didn't know what she was asking so she stopped.

"Did, you what?"

"Nothing. Sorry."

She had returned to her desk and watched him from there, chewing on the end of her pencil, trying to place the unplaceable, trying to pin down the intangible.

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><p>"Harry! Why, Harry?" exclaimed Dimitri.<p>

"I caught him looking at me."

"That's not so unusual, Ruth."

She glares at him.

"Sorry," he mutters.

"He looked the way he does when something's worrying him, something he's done, praying on his mind. Something he regrets."

"Well, he's hardly likely to look anything else but with the Inquiry hanging over him."

"No," she says and knows it is true.

"But…?"

"But, oh, I don't know it's just a feeling and everytime I have this niggling feeling that something's not right it usually goes horribly wrong."

"Then talk to him."

"It sounds so simple."

"It is, just talk to him, Ruth."

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><p>"Harry."<p>

"Could you make it quick, Ruth."

"Sorry are you going out?"

"I have some things I need to prepare for the Inquiry."

"Oh, yes, right."

She stood by the edge of his desk as he gathered his coat from one of the chairs before crossing back and grabbing a manilla folder that lay on his desk.

The intangible was suddenly less so and she felt she could almost reach out and touch a memory. What the memory was she didn't know.

But the smell of him she knew.

She knew the mix of soap and aftershave, she knew the warm, comforting scent. She knew it but not why she knew it.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Your aftershave," she said knowing she had to say something.

"Oh," he looked slightly worried, "do you not like it?"

"No. I mean, yes, I mean it just smells familiar."

"Maybe Dimitri's got the same one," he added and shrugged on his coat.

"Yes, perhaps."

"Obviously got better taste than I'd give him credit for," he smiled.

"Or you're paying him too much."

He laughed.

"Anything else, Ruth?"

He stood before her.

"No," she said absentmindedly as her fingers reached out and smoothed down his lapel.

His eyes flicked to her hand.

She realised as if waking from a dream what she was doing.

"Oh, sorry," the hand was withdrawn and she stepped back, daring to glance up at him expecting to see hope or expectation.

There was only sadness in his face.

"Bye, Ruth," he turned and walked away.

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><p>"So did you talk to him?"<p>

"Yes."

"And…?"

"And I have no idea. I think I must be certifiable."

"Did you ask him if he'd done something to you?"

Ruth opens her mouth but has no idea how to answer that particular question.

"I mean drug you?"

"Oh, hi Harry, just wondered if you'd slipped some barbiturate or other into my tea yesterday?"

"You won't know till you ask," he says patiently.

"Dimitri, do you not think that all sounds a little ridiculous?"

"I'm only going with _your_ gut feeling!"

"Yes, well, then I'm being a little ridiculous. Actually I'm being totally ridiculous."

"Okay, Evershed, final question."

She raises her eyebrows.

"What's the last thing you remember from yesterday?"

She takes a deep breath and concentrates. She can remember the bus.

"Going home."

"Is that it?"

She can remember the bus... twice.

"No, actually I think I went out again."

"Where?"

"I don't remember."

"Try."

She tries.

"It was raining, I was scared."

"Why?"

"I don't remember!" she snaps suddenly.

"Okay," Dimitri says calmly, "and this morning, what do you remember from this morning?"

"So much for the last question," she mutters.

"Evershed!"

"I might have been dreaming and then I woke up."

"Anything else, anything unusual?"

"I felt happy."

He looks at her.

"And that's unusual?"

"Yes, Dimitri, it is."


	2. Chapter 2

_Wednesday_

"How was it?" dares Dimitri.

"Somewhere between the Spanish Inquisition and Nuremburg," mutters Harry retreating into his office in the knowledge that the Inquiry will only get worse than today's opening session.

Dimitiri takes a deep breath and follows him.

"Harry…"

His boss glances up.

"Can I do anything to help?"

"Thank you, Dimitri, but I'm afraid I'm beyond that now."

"If there is anything…" he leaves the offer hanging, unspoken, not verbalising the extremes to which he might be encouraged to go.

Harry nods, he know what is being said.

"Ruth…" Dimitri adds, "she's not quite herself."

Harry raises his eyes questioningly.

"She seems a little confused about what happened to her on Monday night."

"I'm not with you."

"Neither's she. She can't seem to remember anything."

"A glass too much of burgundy, perhaps," says Harry, smiling.

"Does that sound like Ruth to you?"

"No, but then perhaps I don't know her evening habits that well." He looks away signalling the end of the conversation.

"But you'd like to."

Harry's eyes dart up, his mouth set. The fire in his eyes surprises Dimitri. The passion, the pain, there is so much more there, more than he had expected.

"Goodnight Dimitri," says Harry tightly.

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><p>Ruth is on the bus, it's a miserable evening and the inevitable rain resumes as the lights from the city traffic randomly illuminate her face.<p>

She has that nagging feeling once more. The feeling of sitting on a bus and being afraid, not afraid, no not afraid…nervous. Feeling nervous like she is being drawn somewhere, drawn both willing and yet unwilling.

And she knows there is something more. But she cannot place it.

She watches the bus pull away and wonders why she is no longer on it.

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><p>He opens the door to a damp, confused Ruth.<p>

Nervously she hopes he will be pleased to see her. He is not. He stands blocking her path.

"Please may I come in?" she asks quietly.

"You shouldn't be here, Ruth."

"Says who?"

"It's not right."

"Please, Harry. It's raining."

He stands to one side unwillingly.

She walks in looking around his house, thinking it strange that her life has been so entwined with his and yet never has she been here before.

"Tea?" he asks.

"Please," she follows him to the kitchen and watches him as he gathers cups and milk.

"So, what is it, Ruth?"

"I…I wanted to ask how things were going?"

"They're going."

It is all the answer he seems prepared to give. Truth be told he wants her to leave. He can't deal with this.

Ruth senses it.

"I'm sorry, I should go."

The kettle clicks off.

He sighs.

"At least have some tea and get warm first," he concedes, taking the top off the milk and glancing around for something.

She reaches into a draw and pulls out a spoon.

"Thanks," he says his eyes lingering on hers for longer than he had intended.

He turns away and begins to stir.

"Harry, how did I know where the spoons were?"

"Predictable kitchen planning,' he says lightly, turning to hand her a mug.

Her face is focused, her brow furrowed in concentration as he watches some of the puzzle inside her head start to piece itself together.

"The plates are in here," she says opening a cupboard, "and there's a light out in your fridge."

She opens the fridge door and sure enough the top light is not working.

She looks at him with accusing eyes.

"How do I know this Harry? What have you done to me?"

"Please, Ruth. Please just go," he says sadly talking her cup back and turning to lean against the sink.

"Tell me," she demands, her hands on his back trying to pull him round towards her. But as those hands feel the warmth of his back something new overcomes her, some new flash of memory, like a spark and then gone. Her hands withdraw quickly and hover in the air above him.

He waits and hopes to hear the click of her feet across the floor away from him but there is nothing, only silence.

A fingertip begins to trail across the left hand side of his ribs. He shivers.

"You have a scar here."

He closes his eyes and wills her to go.

"Don't you?"

He says nothing

"Don't you!" she demands.

He turns to her finally, his eyes refusing to meet hers.

"Ruth, please go."

"Why do I know there's a scar there, Harry?"

"Ruth…"

"Why?"

He shakes his head.

"HARRY!"

"Please don't do this," he pleads.

She is breathing heavily, eyes fixed upon him, burning with anger and confusion.

"Why, Harry?" her voice is calm now, calm and determined.

"You've seen it," he says quietly.


	3. Chapter 3

_Two days earlier - Monday _

Ruth was on the bus, it was raining.

She was not going home. She'd been there, done that.

Now she was travelling towards something she both anticipated and dreaded. Nervously she watched the street lights pass by, taking her closer and closer.

* * *

><p>"Hi," she said to the surprised face before her.<p>

"Hi," he said, wondering why she was here.

"I need to talk to you. May I?"

He stepped aside apologising for leaving her standing in the rain.

She glanced around as he led the way towards the kitchen. It was the first time she had been here. Somehow it felt very Harry. She liked it.

"What can I get you?" he asked, "tea or something stronger?"

"Tea," she smiled, "though I may need something stronger when I've finished."

He resisted the urge to make any comment and switched the kettle on whilst speculating on what she might be implying, be it for good or for bad.

"Sorry," he said, as the sound of the phone rang out from elsewhere.

Left to her own devices she glanced around the kitchen. Milk she could safely guess at, she peered into a semi lit fridge and found it. Instead of mugs she found plates. Instead of teabags she found a tin with a gun in it. Eventually she found the teabags. By the time he returned there were two mugs of tea which she was in the process of stirring.

"Sorry."

"I didn't know if you were having one, too?" she said offering him the cup.

"You tell me, Ruth?" he said, "Do I need something stronger?"

"You might do."

He sighed a soul deep sigh and she knew then that she had to say this and say it quickly.

"I was wrong, Harry."

"About the drink?"

"What? No."

He looked vaguely confused and then nodded towards the living room. She followed him reluctantly. He sat down and waited for her to do likewise but she felt the need to be stood.

"I was wrong." She repeated.

He waited. She put down her tea.

"You saved my life and all I did was berate you."

"I would do it again, Ruth."

"Harry, please don't say anything."

He grasped the tea in his hand and tried to focus on something other than what he feared was coming next.

"I'm sorry. Sorry for telling you you were wrong, sorry for doubting you over Albany, sorry for letting you go to Lucas without ever telling you…"

He looked up at her expectantly.

"Sorry for closing down and blocking you out. Sorry for everything really."

The mug was burning his hands but he hadn't noticed.

She didn't seem to be saying anything more. She picked up her tea.

"Can I say anything, yet?"

"Yes," she said.

"I think you better go now."

She looked at him, the cup paused halfway to her mouth.

"You want me to go?' she said quietly.

"No, but it would be the right thing to do."

He stood up, his eyes failing to meet hers.

"I don't want to do the right thing," she whispered, waiting for him to look at her, "I want to do what I came here to do."


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for the tardiness in updating but a 13 hour day at work got in the way! Hope you can keep up with where we are cos I had to reread to make sure!**

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><p><em>Wednesday Evening<em>

_'Why do I know there's a scar there?', she had asked._

_"You've seen it', was his reluctant reply._

He watches her face intently, watches and waits, expectant of recognition, expectant of memory.

But all he sees is confusion.

"You better start explaining yourself, Harry," she warns.

And so he makes a decision.

"On Monday night you came round to see me," he says

"Literally, by the sound of it!"

"I'd just got out of the shower," he pauses, "do you not remember?"

"No. I do not remember." she snaps

"I didn't have my shirt on."

"Right."

"Maybe it was such a shock you've blocked out the whole evening," he suggests with a wry smile.

"I think I'd be able to recall that," she mutters.

"I made you tea. That's how you knew where everything was."

She nods, but her face is still filled with confusion.

"And why was I here?"

For some reason his attention turns away from her.

"Harry?"

"You came to tell me that if I expected anything from you for saving your life then I would be sadly mistaken."

"I wouldn't say that."

"But you did."

"No," she insists.

"Forgive me Ruth but as it seems I am the only one who recalls that evening I think I'm in a better position to win the argument."

She shakes her head. Something feels wrong.

"But why don't I remember?" she asks sadly.

"I don't know."

They both seem defeated.

"Do you still want me to go?" she says quietly.

"I think it best."

She nods.

"Harry..."

He glances at her.

"What I said...if I said that...I didn't mean it."

"But you were right to say it. I didn't...I don't...expect anything, Ruth."

She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that whether he expects it or not she feels something and it most certainly is not indifference.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he adds quickly.

He walks towards the door and she follows reluctantly.

The cool night air floods in. He stands aside as she passes.

She turns back to him, her eyes straining to see the something she knows she is missing.

"Sleep well, Ruth," he says it so gently, with so much tenderness that it pulls at her but she knows not why.

The door closes.

He wonders if his life can get any harder than the here and now as he turns away back to the emptiness of his kitchen.

There is a loud rap on the door.

Once more the cool air greets his face.

"What colour is your bedroom?"

He looks at her silently.

"It's green."

But it is not he who says it, it is her.

"Isn't it?"she insists.

He stares at her blankly but his chest rises and falls too quickly.

"Tell me it's not green, Harry?"

And then she is past him, past him and heading for the stairs.

Something within her knows exactly where she is going.

The door bursts open.

"Oh my god!" she says, her hand hurridly covering her mouth, muffling her shock.

She stands within the olive green walls staring at the bed, the bed that is imprinted in her head.

She turns back to his broken figure standing in the doorway.

Her eyes are wide, they look at him with apprehension, they look at him with fear, they look at him with betrayal.

"What have you done?" she whispers, her tone appalled.

His eyes are cast down. He can't stand to see the shock, the pain, the hurt in her eyes.

"Tell me the truth, Harry. Whatever it is. Tell me the truth."


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks for all the fab reviews. Here's a short, but significant update. **

**Another long day at work tomorrow but I'll post a new chapter at some point in the day.**

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><p><em>Wednesday Evening<em>

"It's not what you think, Ruth."

She stares around the bedroom. Half seeing. Half knowing.

When her eyes come to rest on the doorway, it is empty.

She finds him downstairs, slumped on the sofa, head bowed.

"You didn't answer the door with no shirt on?" she asks.

"No."

"I saw your scar…upstairs… in the bedroom?"

"Yes."

"Harry….I don't know you," she says quietly.

And it's the quietness, the disappointment that pierces him.

"Ruth, please, I promise you it's not what you think."

"And what do I think, Harry?" her voice is filled with accusation, "what am I thinking right now?"

"You came here on Monday," he says looking up at her, "came here and apologised for doubting me, for blocking me out. You wanted to say sorry."

"That's not what you said before."

"No, but this is the truth."

She waits for more, truth or not.

"I asked you to leave. But you wouldn't. Not until you had done what you came here to do."

"What did _you_ think I'd come here to do?" she asks, her alarm apparent.

"I didn't think anything. I didn't know. I just wanted you to go."

"But I didn't go?"

"No."

"So what happened, Harry?"

"You kissed me."

"What?"

"You kissed me."

She looks at him and she doesn't know whether to believe him anymore.

"I tried, I swear I tried," he breathes, "but…."

"But what?"

"I'd wanted you for so long," he raises his hands to his head.

"Oh god," she says.

"No, Ruth, I swear…I swear it was consensual."

Her eyes bore into him.

"So why can't I remember, Harry?"

He stands. He walks away. He faces the window.

The silence is overwhelming.

"WHY_?"_

"I drugged you."

She can barely hear him. She can barely believe him. She can barely breathe.


	6. Chapter 6

**Long hard day at work but here's my best through bleary eyes. Off tomorrow so will prob get finished then.**

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><p><em>Wednesday Evening<em>

"When?" she demands, her eyes boring into his back.

"When, did you drug me? And with what? The innocuous cup of tea, is that it? Help me say what I'd come to say, do what I'd come to do!"

He is still refusing to turn from the window but she doesn't want to go anywhere near him.

"That's why you wanted me to leave…" comprehension is dawning upon her, "you were having second thoughts? Regrets? Is that it, Harry? Should I have put sugar in her tea, not rohypnol!"

"No, Ruth. No," he shouts, spinning back towards her, "it wasn't like that!"

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><p><em>2 days Earlier - Monday<em>

Their passion was overwhelming. It had started slowly and simply but soon it was sensual and seductive.

So many years, so many moments of self restraint, suddenly stripped away.

She had pulled back from him breathlessly and wordlessly she had taken his hand and turned towards the stairs.

But he had hesitated.

"It's your house, Harry," she whispered, "I don't know where I'm going."

"And where are you going?" he breathed into her ear as his lips moved to the nape of her neck.

"I thought..." she struggled to speak, "...that the bedroom might be more appropr..."

She was rudely interrupted as his mouth found hers and his body pressed her backwards, step by step, up the stairs.

* * *

><p><em>Wednesday Evening<em>

"You kissed me. I kissed you. It was simple, Ruth. Simple and wonderful and all the rest was adrenalin and endorphins. That's all."

"And we had sex?" she says her mouth tight, her jaw set.

"It was much more than that," he says quietly gazing at her.

"I wouldn't know, Harry," her voice drips with sarcasm, "after all, I don't remember."

His gaze slips away as the next wave of attack begins.

"So, there you were, lying in bed, no doubt feeling rather pleased with yourself. Tell me, what made you reject the post coital cigarette and opt instead for the morning after 'fuck and forget' pill?"

He has never heard her speak like this. His dejection is absolute.

"You just happened to have a bottle handy in the bathroom cabinet, did you…for emergencies?'

"Ruth, please…."

"Please, what, Harry. Please forgive you?"

"Please understand."

"Understand what?" she shouts, "tell me, because I have no idea, I have no understanding whatsoever of why you did this."

"I didn't want to hurt you."

She looks at him blankly. Lost. Angry.

He shakes his head and turns back to the window.

"The Inquiry," he says quietly, "the things you'll hear. The things I've done."

"So?"

"You won't forgive them….me. You'll hear them and you will judge me and hate me and you will be right, Ruth, you'll be right to do so."

"What has this to do with Monday night?"

He turns back to her.

"Monday night was a taste of what could have been," he whispers, "Do you have any idea how hard it would have been to know that, to feel that and then lose it? Better that you never knew, never remembered how wonderful things could be… better than tasting the future and then losing it."

She is looking at him wide eyed.

"I didn't want to hurt you, Ruth….anymore than I have already."

She steps slowly towards him.

Crack!

Her hand whips across his cheek.

He does not flinch, his eyes, his head are downcast, deserving.

"Do you know what that was for?" she demands.

"Yes."

"No, Harry. You don't."

He dares to look at her.

"That was for robbing me of what I can never get back. That was for taking from me a memory I have imagined a thousand times over and will never know."

"Ruth…I.."

"You're a hypocrite, Harry."

"Please…"

"Do you want to know why?"

He nods.

"What did you say? That I'll 'judge you and hate you'?"

He goes to answer but she does not want an answer.

"You're the only one doing the judging, Harry. It's _you_ who is prejudging me! Don't dare to tell me how I'll feel, you have no idea what I'll feel!"

"I'm sorry," he offers, weakly.

"If you're such an expert in knowing how I'll react, then tell me, what am I going to say next Harry?"

"That it's too late for sorry?" he offers.

"Right first time. In fact, right for the first and only time!"

And with that she turns on her heel and marches away from him, towards the front door. She doesn't look back.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks for all your considered reviews. **

**I thought this chapter might just help - also gives me slight breathing time to think of where the hell to go next!**

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><p><em>2 days earlier - Monday Night <em>

Her head had been nestled between his shoulder and chest. Her hand idly tracing patterns on his skin.

"What are you thinking?" he whispered.

He could feel her smile against him.

"Tell me."

"You remember when you were getting something for your birthday, when you were young…" she glanced up at him, "do you remember that far back?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes Ruth, my memory is still intact, thank you."

She smiled and rested against him once more.

"And you knew what the present was going to be, even months before you got it and the wait seemed to go on forever?"

"Mmm," he acknowledged.

"You were all consumed with excitement and anticipation. Then at last it was the day and you finally had what you'd wanted so badly…."

Now it was his turn to smile.

"…But in that moment all you felt was disappointment…"

His hand slipped from her hip.

"…because in the end the expectation was actually more enjoyable than the present."

His body had tensed.

"Well, Harry," she glanced up at him, mischievously, "I was just thinking that this was nothing like that!"

He breathed again, shaking his head.

"Not funny, Ruth."

She laughed and kissed his chest.

His hands slid back around her.

The rain beat against the window mercilessly.

"Are you happy?"

"Mmm," she murmured against him.

"What if things changed and this couldn't happen again?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, hypothetically, if we couldn't be together would you be glad that this had happened or not?"

"It depends."

"On what?"

"This is a bizarre conversation Harry."

'Well, I'm not the one who started with the birthday present analogy."

"Okay, hypothetically if you were shot and killed, which you better not be, then I would be glad."

"What?"

"I would be glad _this_ had happened because then I wouldn't always wonder what if and never have the opportunity to find out."

"Right."

"But if, _hypothetically_, you ran off with Erin, or that very pretty girl from Section C, which you also had better not, then I would most certainly wish this hadn't happened because it would be like being shown the present and then it been returned to the shop."

Harry looked worried.

"Am I making sense?" she said.

He nodded.

"What if you realised what a total bastard I am, Ruth?"

"But you're not," she smiled, "because you've shown me what kind of man you really are," and she returned her attention to his chest.

He laid his head back on the pillow and that's when he had had the idea ... the stupid, sad, sorry idea.


	8. Chapter 8

**Had absolutely no idea where I was going with this story so apologies if this chapter is something of a ramble! **

**By the way, have I told you I love your reviews?**

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><p><em>Thursday Morning<em>

Ruth sits at her desk, head down, trying to lose herself in her work.

But the only thing she's lost in, is the thought that she has made love to Harry.

Like the spoons and the scar, she has vague glimpses of Monday night, impressions that are there and gone: the smoothness of his chest, the noise of rain and something to do with presents. But as hard as she tries there is little more.

His office is empty, the Inquiry continues.

"So, have you figured it out yet?" Dimitri plonks himself down on her desk "the great Monday night memory mystery?"

"It was nothing," she says lightly, "glass too much of wine," she smiles.

"You seemed to think it was more than that yesterday, Evershed."

"Yes well, things change."

"Okay," he decides not to press it and changes the subject. "Tariq's rigging a mic…"

She glances up.

"At the Inquiry. He's going to give us a shout when it's working."

"Maybe we won't want to hear it," she says sadly.

"Everything we do can sound bad, Ruth, depending on how they spin it."

"Most of what we do _is_ bad. Good means achieved by bad methods."

"Yeah, but you're not worried are you? I mean, you trust Harry."

She looks at him.

"…Don't you?"

"I'm sure he has always done what he thought was right even when he was wrong."

"But hypothetically, if they come up with something really bad, you'll still trust him now won't you?"

"_Hypothetically_…." she repeats, the word hanging around her like a curtain shading her mind, "I don't know."

* * *

><p><em>Thursday 2pm<em>

Dimitri looks up, "You're back early."

Harry doesn't answer. He walks to his office.

It is the first time she has seen him since last night. He looks tired.

He is aware of her at her desk.

He sits still and silent.

And wishes he had taken the same tablet.

But for now all he can do is mourn the memory.

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><p><em>3 days Earlier - Monday night<em>

He handed her the glass of water and watched her drink it thirstily. Moments later he kissed her as her eyes closed. He wrapped the duvet around her and carried her to the car.

Half an hour later she was in her own bed, her clothes neatly folded.

He knelt at her side stroking the hair from her face and then he kissed her for the last time.

* * *

><p><em>Thursday 7pm<em>

He watches her walk towards the pods. Her eyes studiously avoiding him.

"Ruth…" he calls from his doorway.

She won't even look at him. The pod door closes and she turns away.

* * *

><p><em>Friday Morning<em>

"We're on," calls Tariq.

Dimitri dons his headphones. Ruth concentrates hard on the folder in front of her, refusing to do likewise. But after ten minutes she sees the look on Dimitri's face as his head lifts towards her, his eyes wide. She finally reaches for her cans and begins to listen to the accusations which are being levelled at Harry Pearce.

When Erin enters several hours later, it is to an unusually quiet and totally unproductive grid.

* * *

><p><em>Friday 5pm<em>

A seemingly defeated man returns to Thames House.

Erin follows him to his office with more than one question relating to current ops.

He answers concisely and with his usual decisive consideration.

"Thank god I can get some answers out of you," she says with a sigh.

He looks at her questioningly, "Problems?"

"Tough day," she says.

"Tell me about it," he mutters.

"It's your fault, actually."

"Most things are, Erin, fortunately you've discovered that early."

"I'm afraid not a lot got done today. They've all been monitoring the Inquiry."

"What?"

"Seems Tariq has got a feed."

Harry doesn't need to look up to know that she isn't at her desk.

"Ruth?'

"Went home early. Looked a little pale."

He knows then that he is damned.

Damned to the mockery of a memory.

And he knows that what he had foreseen had come to pass.

* * *

><p>For two more days Harry sits in front of the panel of faces who are to judge him. Nothing is worse than the times and places they had revisited on Friday, nothing could surpass his culpability for the events in Northern Ireland and then the ill fated Operation Omega. He doesn't need anyone to tell him his failure and fault for the horrors that had occurred.<p>

Worse still, for two days he doesn't see her.

* * *

><p><em>Tuesday Evening<em>

He stands by the window at home, a near empty bottle in one hand, glass in the other.

He doesn't react to the sound of the doorbell. Not at first. Then with weary tread he crosses to the door without relinquishing either bottle or glass.

"You look terrible," she says.

"Believe me I feel worse."

And he knows that she is here to admonish him and finally to judge him.

"You could always try and forget all about it, Harry. I know someone who has just the thing."

"Touché," he turns from the door. She can follow him or leave, it doesn't really matter.

He hears the door close as he pours another glassful. He surrenders the bottle. It is spent.

"You don't need to judge me Ruth, it's written all over your face."

"What you did…"

"I will regret always."

"Was wrong. You killed people."

"It seems to be an unfortunate fault of mine."

"Don't joke about this Harry."

"It's happened. I can't take it back. If I could, I would. But I can't."

"Can you live with it?"

"You'd be surprised, Ruth, at the things you learn to live with. I'm an expert."

He takes a long, hard drink.

She watches him intently.

"You know there were a lot of years that I put you on a pedestal, Harry. I thought you'd always do the right thing, would nobly resign if you'd done wrong, not that I believed you capable of doing the wrong thing."

"That must have been a long time ago," he says sadly.

"It was."

"No longer your knight in shining armour then, Ruth?"

"Scuffed and sadly tarnished armour, without a horse and well past his best."

"Thanks," he says, "very vivid."

He raises his glass only to find it is empty once more.

"Drink?" he asks.

"I'd rather not. You never know what's in it these days."

His head hangs before he pulls it up with an effort to look at her.

"Fine, then you make it. Mine's a coffee," and he slumps onto the sofa.

She hesitates, then turns to the kitchen.

"Besides, you know where everything is," he calls after her.

He picks up the bottle once again and tips it fully. Even the dregs will do.


	9. Chapter 9

"The last thing you need tomorrow is a sore head."

She hands him a large mug of coffee.

"Won't be the first time, Ruth."

"No, but it's not the best idea on the last day of the Inquiry."

She sits opposite him cradling her own cup.

"Perhaps you should have used that pill tonight instead of Monday. I'd quite like to forget what you've done."

He smiles humourlessly.

"You would have heard about it from someone else."

"And you couldn't drug them all, is that it?"

"No," he says simply.

"You've thought about it?"

"It crossed my mind."

She shakes her head.

He concentrates on blowing on the hot coffee and risks a sip.

"I'm not as idealistic as I once was, Harry."

"Nor as naïve?"

"I'm not naïve."

For a moment they hold each other's gaze.

"And I'm no longer on my white charger. I think we've established that, Ruth."

"I don't expect you to be unsullied by all that has happened, I don't expect you to be clean of the blood that stains us all, but … what you've done, Harry…."

"I know," he says, putting the cup down and rubbing his face with weary, culpable, guilty hands.

"I'm not here to judge you."

"Aren't you?'

"No. You can do that for yourself."

"Then I'm guilty, Ruth…of so much. But I'd like to think that I've managed to get it right more times than wrong."

"You have."

"Apart from with you. I never get it right with you, do I? Wrong timing, wrong decisions and never have I found the right words."

"Apart from Monday," she says, a hint of hurt and bitterness in her voice.

"No," he smiles sadly, "even then. That was all you Ruth, you were the one who found the words, the courage to do something about…the situation."

"I better go," she says suddenly and gets up.

"Right," he stands too.

But then she stays, reluctant, preoccupied.

"Harry…"

"Yes, Ruth."

She is struggling with something.

"What?" he asks gently.

"Was it … Monday … was it … good?" she almost whispers it.

He inhales deeply and closes his eyes for a moment before looking at her with all the honesty within him.

"Yes, Ruth," he breathes, "it was."

She nods slowly and turns towards the door. As she opens it she pauses once more.

"You should have trusted me to reach my own conclusions, Harry, because the final irony is that I can forgive you for the past, but I can't forgive you for taking that memory away from me."

The door begins to close.

"Wait!"

His hand holds the door and stops her.

"Please listen to me.

"I can't change the past, Ruth, but I can give you that moment back, I can give you Monday back. If you'll let me. I can give you a memory, a thousand memories, all of them wonderful.

"Please, Ruth," he whispers, easing her from the doorway, his hand in the small of her back, "… it's Monday and you've just arrived. You're just about to tell me that you're sorry for berating me for saving your life, for letting me go and meet Lucas and I'm about to tell you that none of that matters because you're here."

He gently closes the door behind her,

She is looking at him, trying, trying to go with him, to let herself be lulled back in time.

"And why am I here?" she whispers.

"Because there's something you have to do, something you've come here to do."

"What?'

His mouth moves to her ear.

"You've come to kiss me."

"Why would I do that, Harry?" she breathes.

"Because it's what you need to do, because it's what we were always meant to do, Ruth. Because it's Monday night and it's pouring down outside. Because I love you but have never managed to tell you. Because when you wake up in my arms tomorrow and you're idly tracing Arabic letters on my chest, you'll remember how happy you are and you'll remember me and the most wonderful night we've had and you'll be glad you didn't go, you'll be glad you decided to kiss me, right here, right now."

She pulls her head away so that she can face him, so that she can see the sincerity in his eyes.

"And why should I believe you?" she whispers.

"Because I'm right. For once in my life I've got it right, Ruth."

* * *

><p><strong>Something more to come - either a chapter or an epilogue.<strong>


	10. Chapter 10

**Think I may have lost a bit of interest, but here is the last chapter. Possibly an epilogue, who knows.**

* * *

><p><em>Wednesday 3pm<em>

"Oh come on, Tariq," Dimitri pleads.

"I can't!"

"Look, what Erin doesn't know won't hurt her."

"She'll have my guts."

"Just 5 minutes. Get it back for that long. We need to know what's happening."

"She specifically said..."

"Tariq, have you seen Ruth today? I don't know where her head's at. So please..."

Tariq sighs and begins reinstating the forbidden feed to the Inquiry room.

Dimitri waits patiently but nothing is forthcoming.

"Problem?"

"There's nothing there."

"Well, try repatching it or something."'

"No I mean there's nothing there, there's _no_ _one_ there. The room's empty.

"What?"

"It must have finished!"

"Shit!"

They look at each other.

And it is at that same moment that the pod doors open and Harry steps out.

Every pair of eyes on the grid turns to him.

All is still.

"Well?" asks Erin.

"Does no one do any work whilst I'm out?" he growls.

They all look at each other still uncertain as he marches to the office.

And then they look at Ruth.

She gets up and makes her way through her assembled colleagues.

She does not knock.

She does not speak.

She waits.

He is perched on the edge of his desk, head bowed.

"Which result do I deserve, Ruth, dismissal, resignation, or reprimand?"

"Which do you deserve, or which do I prefer?" she asks quietly.

Erin moves towards Harry's office.

"Oh, no you don't," says Dimitri, a hand on her arm.

She turns to him aggressively.

"I need to know what the verdict was."

"No, Erin, Ruth needs to know before us."

"No, I am senior, I need to be told."

"They have history. Give them some respect."

"Bollocks to their _history_," she says with derision, "they've barely spoken a word in all the time I've been here, in fact they've barely managed to be in the same room."

"Yes, well, it's just their way."

"What!" she points towards the glass window, "That's their way is it? To be stood at opposite sides of the office, still barely speaking, after the biggest decision of his career?"

Dimitri lets go of her arm. Maybe things have changed, maybe Erin was seeing it clearer than them.

"If I told you they'd sacked me, what would you say, Ruth?" asks Harry.

"I'm glad."

"And if I'd been reprimanded?"

"Is that all?"

"What if I'd resigned?"

"I'd say 'good'."

He nods and takes a deep breath.

Erin pushes open the door.

"Forgotten how to knock?" he asks curtly.

"Harry, as section chief, I think it only right you inform me if anything is going to change."

"Do you now?" he asks.

"Yes, I need to know what's happening?"

"Well, _Erin_…" he says her name pointedly, "…here's what's happening. I'm getting up from my desk," and so he does, "and I'm walking out of my office," and so he does.

"Yes, thanks for that," says Erin with irritation as she and Ruth follow him, "but would you please tell me what the result of the Inquiry was?"

"The results from the Westminster jury, were as follows," he turns to her, "Sir Harry Pearce is no longer so. The lesser spotted, unbeknighted, common or garden, Harry Pearce, head of section D … has resigned."

The team stare at him, open mouthed.

Only Erin looks somewhat elated.

"What are you going to do?" asks a shocked Dimitri.

"I am going to go home," says Harry with a smile. "And I'm going to make sure that in my house every night is _Monday_ night."

He turns to Ruth, takes her hand and leads her from the grid, amidst a sea of confused, yet now smiling faces.

"Oh, and Erin…" calls Ruth, "kindly inform the DG that I resign too."

And with that the pod doors open and the no longer 'Sir' Harry Pearce, pulls the soon not to be Ruth Evershed, in besides him.

And then he kisses her hungrily.


End file.
